


News Flies to Edonomee

by Zhisanin



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Timeline, Gen, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6273652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhisanin/pseuds/Zhisanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was only one answer to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prairie fire

**Author's Note:**

> \-- Big thanks to my beta who chose to remain anon. --

The Wisdom of Choharo was running late on its voyage back from Thu-Athamar, and already there were midnight whispers of a crash, a terrible tragedy that took the life of the emperor and his three sons, but no one dared to believe or repeat the dark suspicions openly – until the pneumatic came.

Celitho – the girl who operated the pneumatic station of the Lord Chancellor that night – was thinking quickly, and first she fetched a page boy to deliver the missive to Uleris Chavar personally and immediately, then she also sent a short message to the couriers’ station. “Prairie fire. Someone come at once.”

She was not at all surprised to see Csevet Aisava enter, not three minutes after having sent the second message. Csevet usually kept late hours, so late that it was sometimes rather early. And unlike many, he was not a great fan of metheglin, which made the dreams of couriers and other court servants deeper and sweeter in absence of icy Varenechibel and his cold sons.

“What’s toward, Celitho? Where is the fire?”

He was slightly winded, his ears somewhat flattened in alarm; he must have been running through the long walkways and corridors. The higher-ranking servants of the Untheileneise Court had their own well-considered interests and agendas to take care of, and so had their own argot to convey as much information as possible without actually saying – or of course writing down – anything. The phrase “prairie fire” meant the highest level of emergency, used only once or twice since its invention; it assured the receiving person would drop everything and come running.

“The airship Wisdom of Choharo crashed. No one survived,” Celitho whispered, still half-shocked.

It took only a moment for Csevet to realize what this meant. The emperor, the Prince of the Court and his younger brothers were dead, the Drazhadeise lineage all but exterminated. Csevet remembered the heated discussions before their departure to Thu-Athamar over whether it was wise or secure for the emperor and his sons to take the same airship, but the Wisdom of Choharo was examined thoroughly and repeatedly, and finally Varenechibel put an end to the dispute by saying they would travel together, father and sons, and that was that.

And now the Ethuveraz was effectively decapitated in one blow. Prairie fire indeed.

“Is Prince Idra the emperor now?” Celitho asked with tears in her eyes; Csevet could not say whom she pitied more, Varenechibel and his sons, or dear, underage Idra who must cope with losing his father, grandfather and uncles, _and_ bear the weight of the Ethuverazhid Mura, killer of emperor-children thrown into power too soon. He shook his head slowly.

“No, he is not.” he said, already deep in thought. “You forgot Archduke Maia.”

“Maia? The goblin?” Celitho’s eyes darkened and her ears drooped low. “Isn’t he dead? I heard the bronchine took him last winter.”

“I heard no such thing.” Csevet said. “And goblin or not, he is still a legitimate son of Varenechibel. Though not loved much, not disowned either, and even if he were…. He shrugged helplessly. _Not loved much_ was definitely an understatement; Varenechibel might or might have not intended his hateful opinion to be overheard and spread as gossip throughout the court, yet it happened, and the general understanding was that Archduke Maia Drazhar took after his mother, the pure-blooded goblin, daughter of the Great Avar, Chenelo Zhasan, in body and in spirit as well.

_(The damned whelp looks just like his mother…)_

“Merciful goddesses!” Celitho all but cried out. “Not him! He is…Chenelo Zhasan was relegated because she was mad, everyone knows that, and if the archduke is anything like her…. No, we cannot be ruled by a lunatic goblin!” She spat the words as if she intended to say _barbarian_ , and Csevet was unsure which one was the more insulting: _lunatic_ or _goblin_.

He could not argue; he himself knew absolutely nothing about the archduke. Maia Drazhar was summoned to the court only once since Csevet served as a courier: to the imperial funeral of Chenelo Zhasan, and that was not an affair open to servant folk. Besides, that was a decade ago. Even if he had seen the child who was now emperor, who could know which ways the years spent in exile changed him?

“He _is_ heir to the throne, after all," replied Csevet with a half-sigh. "Does Lord Chavar know about this already?”

“We sent a page boy to tell him immediately. He will know what to do.”

The girl seemed to trust Uleris Chavar fully; Csevet himself was not so sure, but kept his opinon to himself. “That’s good.” he said instead. “We thank you for letting us know. We will head back to the couriers’ quarter now, and do our best to make them ready, for this….

He wanted to say ‘this shall be an exceptionally long day for all of us’ but could not finish, because the door was flung open and Uleris Chavar himself marched in. He was still wearing his evening clothes: colorful embroidery, jewels and all – he must not have had either time or thought to change into proper mourning. Csevet thought the second might be the closer to the truth.

The Lord Chancellor’s glance swept over Csevet and his courier’s leathers, then nodded curtly.

“Thou!” he barked. “Get ready! Thou wilt bring our letter to Edonomee. The airship Radiance of Cairado unmoors in half an hour. Fetch thy cloak and hurry back, our secretary will have the letter ready. Do not linger, this is of utmost urgency!” Then, satisfied that the need to fetch a courier took care of itself, began to spew forth orders to poor, dazed Celitho.

Csevet stepped out and closed the door behind him. He indeed did not linger to listen – there was no need, as he knew quite well what would follow next. The Corazhas, the Archprelate, the five princes, the kin of the Drazhadeise… many must be informed, then put at ease that the affairs of the Ethuveraz were still in good hands. In Uleris Chavar’s good hands, that was.

And though Csevet did not like the man, he could not say whether or not he was wrong in taking the reins so quickly. It was probably prudent to take precautions, since the Lord Chancellor also didn’t know anything about Archduke Maia. No one did.

But as it turned out, he himself would see him with his own eyes, sooner than anyone else.

_Some courier’s luck, huh?_

Csevet smiled and hurried off to get ready.


	2. Marshland winds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some changes to the text after it was betaed (because I cannot resist scratching it even if it is not itching), so all mistakes are definitely mine.
> 
> In correct Ethuverazhin the name Iokua should have diaereses, but since I have borrowed the name from the book of a friend, I have left it as is.

The _Radiance of Cairado_ was not commandeered, for there was no need; Edonomee was no more than twenty miles off of its original route, and Uleris Chavar’s considerations only extended so far as to get his letter there. Csevet did not think this to be an accidental slip of mind. The longer it took the new emperor to reach his court, the more time the Lord Chancellor would have to entrench himself.

However, this also meant that Csevet had no way back to the court, unless on a borrowed horse of Edonomee – or as part of the new emperor’s entourage. Which, he reasoned with himself, might or might not be wise, depending on the character of the Archduke.

 _The emperor,_ he corrected himself. A nineteen-year old boy, half-goblin, who lived his whole life in virtual isolation on the verge of the marshes. And now the emperor of all the Elflands.

 _We shall see_ , he told himself the thousandth time since he received the news.

The other passengers have already boarded by the time the Lord Chancellor’s secretary gave Csevet the letter: the airship was waiting for him alone. In the back of the cabin he saw four other couriers, too; one of them was Iokua, whom he liked most - and who was in deep slumber when Csevet got Celitho’s message. _So things are set into motion,_ Csevet thought. He did not want them to question him for information he either did not have or did not feel like sharing yet; instead, he waved to them, sat down in a front seat, leaned his head against the wall panels as the airship unmoored and bobbed freely up and above the jewel-like Untheileneise Court, and feigned sleep.

Some time later, when he deemed it inconspicuous, he slipped into the small lavatory of the airship. He left his messenger bag on his seat, so no one should suspect that he was reading the letter he was supposed to deliver – and pulled out the thick, folded paper from his inner pocket. With a tiny but dangerously sharp blade he quickly popped the seal wax from the letter without damaging the imprint of the Lord Chancellor’s signet, and in the dim light quickly scanned the lines.

 _Chavar, thou old bastard,_ he thought, and refolded the paper carefully. _Thou lay’st out thy snares_ _carefully indeed._

He snapped back to the present: he’d wasted too much time already. He stood on the seat, pushed the same blade against the steam pipes that ran on the ceiling, and when it heated so much he hardly could hold it any longer, he re-melted the underside of the wax with it. The reapplied seal looked untouched. Csevet smiled, albeit a bit troubled, tucked the letter into his pocket and went back to his seat.

Nevertheless, what happened then was not in line with Lord Chavar’s plan. First, the man who came out to Edonomee's mooring mast, and for some reason known only to him even climbed to the top by the time Csevet stepped out – Osmer Setheris Nelar, second cousin and guardian of Maia Drazhar – was drunk on metheglin. He breathed alcohol vapors into Csevet’s face, and leaned in far too close to him.

“What brought thee to this cursed land at this cursed hour?” Setheris inquired with a broad swipe of his hand, in a bad imitation of sleek and refined manners. Csevet suspected he hoped that an airship meant someone of higher rank, hence the climb – and the biting mockery now.

“We bear news from the Untheileneise Court, Osmer Nelar” Csevet answered politely, though their position was precarious on the top of the mooring mast, the strong marshland wind tearing at his protesting ears and bringing tears to his eyes. “We brought a letter for the Archduke.”

“For the _Archduke,_ eh? Thou shalt give it to us. We are his guardian.”

“Certainly.” Csevet tried to be amiable enough, so Setheris Nelar would not push him off the mast, while still keeping the letter. “However, we are under strict orders from His Serenity’s Lord Chancellor. Osmer Nelar, please lead us to the Archduke.”

Setheris looked like he was going to argue some more, but the cold and sharp wind up the mast seemed to clear his head up by the minute. “Very well,” he growled. “We shall. Come, then.” And he turned to the woman who opened the door for Csevet and stabbed towards her with a long and evil finger. “Tell thy captain to stall the motors. There may be a reply to bear. We do not know yet, as this courier boy here would not let us see and decide.”

The timid woman was frightened; she nodded once and escaped back into the airship. Setheris Nelar descended the dew-slick iron spiral stairs with the ease of those who often spend their days in the haze of wine and metheglin. Csevet, sober as he was, needed to tread much more carefully, and by the time his feet touched ground, Setheris had already vanished into the lodge.

Csevet took his time looking around. Edonomee was not what he’d expected. Even in the darkness he could see that it was small and in need of whitewashing – no upper stories, no gilded doorways, no sprawling gardens with waterworks and statues – only some pitiful patches of vegetables, tufts of heat-burnt grass from last summer, a couple of gnarled trees, and the endless, flat horizon all around. Just a manor, and a _poor_ manor at that.

 _Varenechibel must really have hated this child_ , Csevet thought, and shuddered. _What grows in the hearts of people out here, in deadly marshes, but resentment and vengefulness?_

Suddenly he felt he could understand the alcohol, and he was deeply thankful that Nelar made the airship crew wait – nevertheless, another, even more unsettling thought crossed his mind. _What if the Archduke is also a hopeless drunkard?_

He went inside with careful steps. The interior of the house was even worse – it reeked of stale dust, damp walls, sweat, hate, and of course, metheglin. Csevet had to stifle a gag. He followed the muffled voices and found something like a receiving room, albeit also dark, cold and damp, with threadbare, not-quite-matching furniture, but this only added up. He quickly slid the letter back to his messenger bag, then put it on a table, and resolved himself to waiting.

 


	3. Emperor -- barefoot

Nelar came back first; Csevet could see from the set of his ears and thin lips pressed tightly together that while he’d sobered up enough to find reason, he’d also found rage now - for what, Csevet could not tell, because he was not yet sleeping, or judging by the household in general, doing anything remotely interesting. Their gazes clashed for a moment, and then the Archduke Maia Drazhar padded into the room.

Padded indeed, for he had neither shoes nor socks on, but this was only the last thing Csevet’s quick, sweeping glance registered. He was not at all goblin-like ( _the damned whelp looks just like his mother);_ his features were definitely Drazhadeise, though he had slate gray skin and curly black hair, which freed itself from his childlike queue and hung in disarray below his shoulders. He bore no other sign of being related to the Great Avar himself; none of the heavy jaw or the protruding red-orange eyes Csevet already pictured in his mind. The son has indeed inherited more from his father than Varenechibel cared to acknowledge. Even his eyes were gray. He wore clothes better described as rags: they were stained, wrinkled and _smelly._ Csevet tried not to show any signs of noticing.

He had clearly been asleep, maybe in drunken stupor, and was woken too fast; he seemed not be able to grasp fully what was happening around him. _Either that, or he actually_ is _slow-witted,_ thought Csevet, but he was careful not to let any of this show on his impassive face. _This is thine emperor,_ he thought to himself, and turned all his attention to him.

“Are you the Archduke Maia Drazhar, only child of Varenechibel the Fourth and Chenelo Drazharan?” he asked, as if there could be any mistake of it.

“Yes,” the boy answered, dazed.

 _He does not know what thou dost,_ Csevet thought. _Yet. But he soon will._

And without further ado he prostrated himself on the rug –- he has seen dogs’ beddings in better shape than this, and it smelled of mold, but this was not the time to be finicky.

“Your Imperial Serenity,” he said, and would have continued, if not for Setheris Nelar.

“Oh, get up, man, and stop babbling!” Setheris said impatiently. “We understood that you had messages from the Archduke’s father.”

Csevet stood; he felt his blood rise. _So this is how things are done in Edonomee?_

He did not let his disgust get the better of him. He turned to Setheris and answered coolly, “Then you understand what we do not.” It was a reproach, although a mild one, and it flew right over the still half-drunk Nelar’s head. “We bear messages from the Untheileneise Court.”

“Please, explain.”

This time the Archduke uttered a full, though short sentence, and his words were not slurred, only somewhat husky from sleep. And he actually said _please._ Csevet looked at him again, surprised, then swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Your Serenity,” he said, and wondered for a brief moment, if they noticed the imperial title at all. “The airship _Wisdom of Choharo_ crashed yesterday, sometime between sunrise and noon.” He called to mind that the Archduke may very well _not_ have known what the airship _Wisdom of Choharo_ had to do with anything at all, so he hastily explained. “The Emperor Varenechibel the Fourth, the Prince Nemolis, the Archduke Nazhira, and the Archduke Ciris were all on board. They were returning from the wedding of the Prince of Thu-Athamar.”

Silence followed. Csevet could have spoken a lot more, if only to break the tension, but he knew this moment would be the most important.

The moment Maia Drazhar realized he was the new emperor.

The boy’s silvery gray eyes clouded over, his ears drooped low, but his face remained impassive.

“And the _Wisdom of Choharo_ crashed,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes, Serenity.” Csevet bowed his head. “There were no survivors.”

He heard Nelar’s sharp intake of breath. _So he understands._ The Archduke did not react. Csevet counted five long heartbeats – and then Maia closed his eyes.

“What caused the crash?”

"Does it matter?" spat Nelar. Csevet ignored him, though he, too, wondered  _why_ this, of all things, was the first the new emperor wanted to know. _Because surely he realizes by now that he_ is _emperor?_  

To the first question He had no _official_ reply, but he picked up much from the growing buzz before boarding the _Radiance of Cairado_. He decided on a somewhat empty answer, and bowed his head. “Serenity. They do not yet know. But the Lord Chancellor has sent Witnesses, and it is being investigated.”

“Thank you,” Maia said, and Csevet blinked in bewilderment. “You said… there are messages?”

“Yes, Serenity.” 

Csevet was happy to be able to turn away; it took a deliberate effort anyway to keep his ears neutral. He thought he was prepared for everything, from theatrical, hysteric fits for the sake of veneer, to hardly concealed joy and glee, because truthfully, Maia Drazhar had no reason at all to even like his father and brothers - but he found he was _not_ prepared for this simple, solemn _thank you._

He fidgeted with the clasp of his case for a second and held out the letter to Maia – but then Nelar swooped down like a hawk, and snatched it from his hand. Csevet watched as he broke the seal and scanned the lines – he was horrified but managed to keep his face and ears from betraying him. _Thou wilst probably be keenly sorry for this, Setheris Nelar, once the emperor gets over the shock,_ he thought. He risked a sidelong glance to Maia: he too was watching Setheris intently, with only a hint of a frown on his face – which was definitely a lighter shade of gray now than before, hinting at a sick pallor.

Nelar finished reading. He did not even try to hide his rage anymore; he just threw the paper towards Maia, and with three long strides he was out of the door. He stalked a bit too closely past Maia, who grabbed at the letter and missed, at the same time pulling himself aside without even knowing it, as if he was expecting a blow. Csevet did not dare to believe his eyes. _Does he beat_ _him?_

 _If so,_ Osmer _Setheris Nelar soon will have much, much more to be keenly sorry for._

Maia said nothing, although his ears lowered. Csevet, as if it was nothing remarkable, knelt and retrieved the letter, then handed it to him. Maia read it line by line with deep attention and Csevet took the time to further examine him.

The new emperor of the Elflands was thin, as Csevet imagined a young sapling would be, grown under the constant, cruel winds of the marshlands. His clothes were probably yesterday’s, grabbed blindly upon being woken in the middle of the night – all in all, he looked painfully like a child of a ragpicker, not a son of an emperor. _It might take some time to arrange for formal mourning,_ Csevet mused, then stopped the train of his thoughts. _Not thy business,_ he chided himself. _Thou shalt deliver their reply to Chavar, who then will surely interrogate thee to pieces. He will take to the Court accompanied by his guardian whenever he is ready._

But he saw and smelled and _felt_ Edonomee around him, and knew with a stinging sureness that Maia Drazhar was as far from being ready as Barizhan was from the Evressai steppes.


	4. Your every need

Maia looked up; Csevet blinked. He could only hope that his composure was not disturbed by his stormy thoughts; he lifted his ears just a bit to signal respectful attention, but said nothing.

“I…we must speak with our cousin.” Maia was clearly unaccustomed to the formal first person; Csevet did not expect anything else after having spoken to Nelar. He bowed his head slightly, accepting the dismissal, but Maia went on. “Do you…that is, you must be tired. Let us summon a manservant to tend to your needs.”

“Your Serenity is very kind.”

Csevet almost choked on the words: he only was able to utter them more or less smoothly because of the years in a service where formality and manners sometimes meant the difference between life and death. It was not as if he needed to be tended to: it was the fact that Maia Drazhar, knowing himself emperor, recognized him not only as someone to be _asked,_ then _thanked_ , but also someone with probable _needs_.

Maia rang the bell and a small, delicately built boy entered so soon that he must have been listening at the door – by no means a manservant, but Csevet suspected he was the only one around. The boy smiled openly at him, probably eager for anything to break the bleak routine he must lead.

“This gentleman has traveled hard,” continued the emperor, and Csevet realized that he had not seen the Radiance of Cairado. As far as Maia knew he could have arrived here by horse, racing endless miles day and night to deliver the news as quick as possible. This made that bit about his needs somewhat more understandable, but _still._ “Please see that he has everything he requires. I will be with my cousin,” he finished, slipping back to the habit of the informality, and hurried out.

The servant boy all but jumped in front of Csevet, his ears perked up, clearly delighted in the task, and Csevet was almost sorry for a moment for having no tendable needs. 

“What can we do for you?” the servant inquired. His clothes were in a slightly better shape than Maia’s, and at that moment Csevet recognized the feeling gnawing on his insides. It was anger, slow and cold – anger for the sake of a deprived, humiliated and shocked boy he only met a couple of minutes before, anger at Varenechibel, at Setheris Nelar and at Edonomee itself. Anger, which he, a courier in the service of the Lord Chancellor, _scheming Uleris Chavar,_ could not afford.

“If you would be so kind and bring us a glass of water?” he asked with a forced smile on his face.

“Certainly!” cried the little boy and was out of the room in that instant. Csevet waited a couple of heartbeats then stepped nearer to the door, as if he was interested in the picture of Varenechibel IV on the wall. In reality, he was straining his ears.

For some time he heard nothing, then the servant boy returned with the water. He showed no sign of suspicion. Csevet emptied the cup, thanked and dismissed the boy quickly, then resumed listening.

“Airship!” This time Nelar hissed loud enough to be overheard; Maia, however, kept his voice low.

“The airship that brought Chavar’s lapdog here can take us back.” Nelar again. Csevet ground his teeth together at being called _Chavar’s lapdog,_ but he could not betray himself. _Thou hast been called by names worse than this before,_ he thought. _And thou wilt be, as well._ “They’ll be waiting for him. Now, go. Make thyself fit to be seen.”

“Yes, cousin.”

The obedient words almost hurt; then Nelar called again, but Csevet could not gather what he said.

“No!” It was Maia, too loud and clearly horrified. Csevet bit down on his own teeth harder. _Salezheio, what had Nelar said?_ And then: “There must be _passengers,_ cousin! How are they supposed to get anywhere from here if we just throw them out? That airship can take them _at least_ back to the Court where they can find another flight!

Csevet found that he might be tired after all – he felt a certain dizzying weakness encompass him. Maia was perfectly right, of course, for the passengers, once stranded in Edonomee, would have had a _quite_ hard time getting anywhere before the year was out, as Csevet himself would have, if he were to return without reply or emperor – _still…_

Nelar must have had reason enough not to contradict the emperor openly, because after only a couple of sentences more, too low for Csevet to hear, Maia stepped out to the corridor. Csevet started, afraid of being caught, but Maia was too deep in thought to notice.


	5. There will be ripples

It took a shorter time for Maia to get ready than Csevet expected. His mourning clothes were old, and they did not quite fit him, but they could be deemed to fit the formal requirements, and were at least clean, smelling only of cedar, which must have been used as moth-repellent. His hair was combed, pinned back and forced into a queue – still childish, but not unkempt anymore – and though his dark skin would not hold a blush, Csevet guessed from his nervous glances towards the mooring mast that he was likely afraid of flying.

The servant boy must have sneaked out to beg the airship crew to have a look around, probably paying with the information he gathered, because the crew was on full alert: the captain stood at the feet of the mast, and on the top there waited the woman whom Nelar had intimidated earlier. They all were much more solemn and wary than on the way here, their faces dark, their ears low, and Csevet decided this was half due to the fact that the new emperor was about to board, and half due to what happened to the _Wisdom of Choharo_ not a day before.

“Serenity,” mumbled the captain. Maia stopped before the steps and looked at him.

“We have nothing but confidence in you and your crew,” he said, and Csevet, who thought nothing might ever surprise him again, almost stumbled, for strictly speaking it was true again, of course, but _still…_

The captain’s ears perked up. “Serenity,” he repeated, this time with feeling. He looked up after the emperor, who gave no sign of being frightened, and climbed the narrow iron steps as if he would go up there every day just to check the weather. Csevet, somewhat dazed, followed after Nelar.

The passengers – two missioners and an elderly maza beside the other couriers – having no idea that they came very close to be thrown out onto the edge of the marshlands, looked at each other and Maia with barely repressed curiosity. Iokua even signaled Csevet again to go and sit by them – and of course tell them everything – but the airship crew decided that he, like Nelar, must belong to the emperor, thus he was herded to the seat to the left of Maia. There was no more delay: the timid crewwoman announced the castoff – Maia thanked her too, of course – then they unmoored and the journey back to the Untheileneise Court began.

Csevet took the time to collect himself. In two hours they would arrive, dropping an emperor into the middle of the unprepared court like casting a stone into a duck pond. Chavar overlooked the possibility that the new emperor _might_ seize opportunity and airship alike, and in sooth, there would have been no airship to seize, if not for the drunken fool Nelar on the mooring mast. _Perhaps not that much a fool, after all?_

The stone, a special, slate gray one, was thus cast – and now there would be _ripples._

Nelar took the seat on the other side of the emperor, and gruffly examined the woodwork of the cabin. His tagging along was quite a matter-of-fact until this moment; now Csevet thought about him as well. Was Nelar trying to sneak back to the court from _his_ relegation in the wake of change, or was he actually trying to establish his standing in power beside Maia by arriving together, maybe even claiming that he provides _support_ to the new emperor in times of grief?

Csevet bit the inside of his cheek so hard it hurt. _Not thy business,_ he reminded himself again. If Setheris Nelar wants to enter the Untheileneise Court with a frown as deep and wide as the Istandaärtha under Cetho, and still breathing metheglin, so he shall do.

Only a couple of minutes passed, when the crewwoman exited the captain’s cabin, stepped to their seats and went down to one knee. Csevet instantly became fully alert, though he carefully kept his ears from betraying him. Nelar, on the other hand, frowned even more.

“Your Serenity?”

“Yes?”

The woman swallowed nervously, and did not quite look up. “The captain wonders, Serenity, if you would care to come forward to watch the sunrise from the cockpit. It is a very beautiful sight.”

“Thank you.” Nelar was already opening his ugly mouth, but Maia was quicker. “We would like that very much.”

Csevet relaxed in his seat, and thought of whether or not to go to Iokua and the others for a couple of minutes, but before he could decide, he heard Maia’s voice. “Would you accompany us, please?”

For one short heartbeat Csevet felt stunned – for the second one he made a silent pledge never to think he cannot be surprised any _more._

“Serenity,” he said, because that was a secure thing to say, and at the third heartbeat he was standing. He followed the crewwoman and the emperor to the cockpit – he saw that they were not expecting another guest but also could not refuse, and while he felt for them, he was not going to give up a sunrise from an airship in the company of probably the most peculiar emperor the Elflands ever had.

“Gentlemen, we thank you!” Maia almost had to shout to be heard over the roar of the engines, but oh, they heard him, and out of sheer awe of being called _gentlemen_ by the emperor they almost forgot how to steer an airship. Csevet, who secretly expected something similar to happen, found himself smiling faintly at their utter bewilderment.

He was herded to a corner where he could do no damage, but had a good view. If the crew was wondering about his courier’s leathers, they gave no sign. Csevet braced his back against the cockpit wall, and watched quietly as Anmura rose from Osreian’s embrace. However beautiful the sight was though, his mind could not stop reeling. What was _that_ again? Not only the emperor being watchful to others’ needs, strange as it is on its own accord, because there is no actual _need_ for anyone to ever see this. This was something else. Maia was given something – something big, something priceless, something _imperial_ , and his first thought was not to take it as his right dictated, but to _share it._ And moreover, not with Setheris Nelar.

Csevet did not think he got the gift for his own personal merits – Maia would have asked anyone else in his place – still, he felt the beginning of a slow ache in his chest. He cast a sidelong glance to the emperor. Maia stood in the opposite corner, not fussing about the cramped and uncomfortable space, watching the horizon with unconcealed rapture. The first rays of the early sun cast a bronze hue to his gray skin and dusted his hair with gold. Csevet closed his eyes. _It will be hard to leave thee in the hands of Chavar and Nelar,_ he admitted. _Very hard indeed._


	6. Will you guide us?

At last, the first mate turned to the emperor.

“Serenity, we will be arriving at the Untheileneise Court in approximately an hour.” he said, and Maia nodded: he took their meaning.

“We are most grateful, gentlemen,” he said, or rather half-shouted, still managing to be solemn. “We will remember this always as the beginning of our reign.”

“Serenity,” the crew chorused, but Csevet could see their pleased surprise again – and that they all believed him. As did he. He could not help it – the phrase could have been nothing more but an absolutely unmindful flourish of speech, nevertheless, having seen Edonomee and knowing what awaited them at the court, Csevet felt Maia was telling the truth. And he chose something worth treasuring.

Still, while they filed out from the cockpit and took their former seats in the cabin, he could not chase away the unpleasant, whispering thoughts that this beautiful beginning might very soon be followed with a grim end. Chavar, seeing the possibility to gain more power. Csoru, afraid to lose what she already has. Sheveän, mother of Idra. Also, Nelar. Tethimar and the eastern landowners. The ever-fighting, diverse interest groups, from small to principality-wide. The Corazhas. And all those who will blindly hate anything goblin. So many traps, so little time to learn to navigate among them. And no one there to guide his steps.

They remained silent until the end of the journey. Getting off the aircraft Csevet noticed again, that however hard Maia gripped the handrail of the steps of the mooring mast – his knuckles went pale with the effort to avoid stumbling right to the bottom – he still held his ears stubbornly up. _Uprooted on a minute’s notice, overwhelmed, grieved, exhausted, probably scared, too – and never showing it,_ he thought. _Drazhadeise, in sooth._

Csevet navigated his way down after them, as close to Nelar’s heels as he dared, to evade Iokua and the others – he was in no mood for gossip. He directed his gaze to the mosaic floor, and turned toward Chavar’s apartments. _Thou need’st inform the Lord Chancellor that the new emperor has arrived; thy questioning is inevitable anyway, so better be over with it at once,_ he told himself. Still, that peculiar ache in his chest would not let up.

He only could flee a couple of steps, when he saw a long, distorted shadow catching up with his. He stopped and turned, but before his mind could register that the emperor was actually following him, he heard his question.

“Will you guide us?”

Csevet, stunned all over again both by the idea itself, and by having his own thoughts about guidance spoken back to him, shot a glance at Nelar. He found him standing a couple of steps away, fuming – this time, Csevet thought, somewhat rightfully. Setheris was, after all, Maia’s guardian a day before, and he had been living in the court earlier, so Maia _should_ _have_ chosen him over a nobody courier any time.

 _Definitely not proper,_ he thought. _But definitely not slow-witted either. Besides, who art thou to refuse?_

Then another thought flashed through his mind. _Varenechibel_ would definitely not have asked for guidance from any courier or courtier who had the ill luck to see him in such a state as he had seen Maia – at his worst, sleep-sodden, in smelly rags in a damp, dark house. Not only that: he would probably have had Csevet silently disposed of by now, one way or another, before he could tell anyone.

He bowed deeply.

“Serenity. We will be honored.”

“Thank you,” Maia said, then he looked openly into Csevet’s eyes. “And, if you would… tell me your name?”

Csevet could not hold his composure any longer: he felt his eyes going wide, his ears tremble, and all he could do was prevent his mouth from hanging open. This was no slip of tongue: this was deliberate.

And it spoke whole volumes.

It took him a couple of heartbeats to gather his wits and courage, and, scandalous as it was, he smiled at the emperor. There was only one answer to give.

“I am Csevet Aisava.” he said. “And I am entirely at Your Serenity’s service.”

And – come what may come – he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is finished as it is -- however, shall I have the time, I shall try to write Csevet's investigation, too.


	7. Csevet's game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Dragonsigma for the quick, effective and patient beta-ing! 
> 
> I took inspiration for the triplets from "Your Every Need" by Path -- thank you for that, too!

 

They entered the Untheileneise Court, emperor with guardian and courier in tow. Or, as they surely seemed to anyone not knowing that it was Csevet who took the news to Edonomee and brought back an emperor in exchange, a shabby half-blood boy in pathetic mourning, a scowling, poor-ish man – and a courier. That last one does not change, from whichever angle one looks at it.

Some people, though, mostly servants, _did_ recognize Csevet, and quick as they were to bow or even prostrate themselves, he had to assume the Court wasn’t as unwitting as he thought earlier. _Soon it will be even less so_ , he thought; _they shall bring word to the whole Court about the emperor’s arrival faster than the winter winds would._

He got a glimpse of Maia’s face, and could not decipher what he saw there. Something akin to amusement, yet at the same time painfully bitter. _He is aware,_ Csevet thought. _Will maybe not let it show, but he is very, very aware._

The thought stirred a distant uneasiness in him. He defiantly raised his ears, but looked at the floor, and did not look up until they reached the stairs of the Alcethmeret.

„The Tortoise Room, Serenity?” he asked, though he remembered exactly: it was only an excuse to look back. Nelar was still following them, showing no intention of leaving. _So thou art truly trying to sneak into power,_ Csevet thought with a hint of desperation. He really would have liked to leave Nelar as far behind as he could be kicked, but he knew it was not his decision to make.

„Yes,” nodded Maia. Csevet turned to lead the way up the nearer staircase. Nelar was indeed right, the Tortoise Room, though not much used recently, was a cozy and nice room, not too big, but still very much sufficient for a newly arrived emperor to sit down and have a first look around his court. “And then…”

Csevet stopped, his foot already on the stairs. His ears lifted and he turned back hastily – almost too hastily. The words _and then_ were something he hoped for, even though he didn’t dare to admit it even to himself before he heard them. They meant time – and time was everything.

“…we would speak with our household steward. And _then_ the Lord Chancellor.”

“Yes, Serenity,” Csevet said, though his enthusiasm was quite dampened; he turned and started upstairs, leading the way. Summoning Echelo Esaran would be one thing – not a pleasant conversation to look forward to, because she was deeply devoted to Varenechibel, and if she has been sleeping and has not yet heard the news she would very probably get angry at first, assuming Csevet is playing an elaborate prank with her – but manageable. And while a grieving and angry Esaran was not someone Csevet wanted to tangle plaits with, Uleris Chavar was not someone he wanted to see on this week at all.

_Yes, go and try to summon him, too – he will take thy person as insult upon injury, and shout thy braids right off thy head for something thou hadst no influence of, then send thee back to the couriers’ rota with letters addressed to the end of the world and three more miles, so that thy hair shall grow long again before thou sets foot into the Court again._

But of course Maia was right – he must see his Lord Chancellor before Chavar got his bearings back. Still, that peculiar ache in Csevet’s chest deepened even more, and not only because _his_ impeding encounter with Chavar. He escorted the emperor – and Nelar, who shot killing glances at him during the way – to the Tortoise Room, bowed and left them alone. He turned towards the servants’ quarters, and on his way through the corridors tried to untangle his thoughts. He felt several kinds of worry ensnarled in his heart, and most of them were about Maia.

 _Thou art bought for a cheap price, even for a courier,_ he tried to upbraid himself. _Some empty words, a sunrise, and thou art already all set to jump on board of that airship, knowing full well how likely it is to crash?_ But the angry words lacked enthusiasm, because Csevet knew he was not bought.

He had fallen.

He knocked on the door of Echelo Esaran’s chamber, and waited until she opened the door for him. Her red-rimmed eyes told Csevet that she had been crying, but her face was as impassive as ever, lips pressed tightly together. Csevet sighed.

“So you heard the news” he said. Esaran nodded curtly.

“We did,” she answered coldly. “Is there anything more we have to know?”

“Actually, yes, there is. The new emperor chose to come to the Court immediately by the same airship we took to deliver him the message about the crash. He awaits you in the Tortoise Room… right now.

Esaran’s head snapped up, and her sharp, inquisitive eyes met Csevet’s. He did not flinch. When he first was introduced to Echelo, in the beginning days of his service, he was duly frightened of her, as almost all the other couriers and lesser servants were. Most of them never got to discover the real Echelo Esaran, the strong, sincere and loyal person behind her constant grim mask. Csevet did – and from then onwards he was proud to consider her a friend.

“Is that so?” she asked finally; Csevet nodded. “Ah. The Archduke Maia has arrived, and you along with him? You will have to tell us everything. Later. Now we must… make ourselves presentable.” She turned and tried to close the door, but Csevet’s palm was on it before she could.

“Echelo?”

She stopped but did not turn around, her hand on the knob. “Yes, Csevet?”

“Thou knowest I had no love for Varenechibel. I will not lie that I am sorry for his death. But I am sorry for thy loss, because it is thine, and thou art my true friend.” He stopped, waited, and then, finally, slowly, Esaran bowed her head in acknowledgement. “So please, Echelo,” Csevet went on, “no matter how strange thou mayest find the Archduke… do not bite him in half right away.”

He let go of the door. Esaran laughed – a short, painful, strangled laugh – and closed it right before his nose.

She readied herself sooner that Csevet thought she would, and followed him to the Tortoise Room without another word. Csevet announced her, then hurried off to summon Lord Chavar, too. A part of his mind - the part that was muddy and slow with loss of sleep and too much new information to acknowledge, weigh and consider - was laughing bitterly at the grim irony of the situation. 

The way to the Lord Chancellor’s apartments took several minutes, and more, because Csevet first went into the kitchen to drink a generous cupful of the strong, bitter black tea that was sloshing in the old, blackened pot hung on a hook in a chimney nook where it stayed lukewarm. It was the cook’s courtesy to the servants, and though the last cupfuls usually steeped there long enough to taste like old, burnt rubber, it helped them remain awake and alert. Thus fortified he knocked on Uleris Chavar’s gilded door and waited.

The Lord Chancellor had the habit of making servantfolk wait, so they knew their place, but even so, Csevet had to endure an unusually long time on the hallway; so long that he began to wonder if Uleris Chavar was in residence at all. Finally, a maid opened the door and peeked out. As he saw Csevet’s distinctive attire, she frowned.

“Are you, by chance, Csevet Aisava?” she asked, and Csevet’s heart sank. It would have been so simple, _too simple,_ to just relay the message to Chavar’s household that he should present himself immediately, then disappear altogether – but the Lord Chancellor obviously had heard the news and he all but issued a warrant for him.

“We are,” he admitted. “We bear messages from the emperor.”

“Come in, then,” the girl said, and opened the door. “Lord Chavar wishes to speak with you.”

She lead the way with quick, nervous steps, into the smallest receiving room of the apartment, then left Csevet alone; for a terrible moment he thought she would lock him in there, but she only closed the door. Csevet looked around: the memory of Edonomee still lingered in his mind, and the difference could not have been greater.

Uleris Chavar loved luxury: even this small room, used only to receive commoners, maybe minor, unimportant nobles, was furnished with a shiny verashme wood table, its top inlaid with a colorful, swirling mosaic-like pattern of what looked like gemstones, and two armchairs and a sofa of the same wood, their drape a deep, rich golden color, embroidered with silver rosebuds. Exquisite – and expensive – black and white Satian rugs lay on the white floortiles which were probably cut marble, though Csevet had not enough experience to decide. The room had no window, but on the far wall there was a valance nevertheless; the curtains were the same embroidered gold as the upholstery, and someone tied them aside to reveal a painting of an idyllic summer landscape instead. A faint smell of residual perfume and costly teas lingered in the warm air.

It took several minutes for Chavar to arrive. Now he wore mourning, black silk and velvet literally from head to toe, he even had black ribbons tied into his hair; however, his face glowed livid red.

“There thou art!” He was shouting before he closed the door behind himself. “What hast thou _done?_ Tell us everything!”

“What have… we done?” Csevet did not have to pretend incomprehension. _Surely Chavar does not think I brought the emperor to the court trussed and thrown onto my shoulder?_ “Lord Chavar, the emperor…”

“Didst thou read our letter?”

Csevet, as all the couriers, had his answer for this particular question ready for a long time. “You sealed the letter with your own signet, Lord Chavar. How could we have possibly opened it without breaking the seal?”

“Dost fancy thyself so clever,” growled the Lord Chancellor. “Then tell us what happened. And do not leave anything out.”

“Lord Chavar, the emperor has sent us to summon you,” Csevet tried instead; he still had hope that he might deflect the Lord Chancellor’s investigative spirit. “He wants to speak with you. He awaits you in the Tortoise Room.”

“Very well,” nodded Chavar. “There we will go, then. But not before we have gathered all the necessary information. _The emperor_ would not want us to present ourselves unprepared, would he? Answer us!” he demanded when Csevet remained silent.

“No, Lord Chavar, he wouldn’t,” Csevet nodded, and began recounting the events. He confined himself to the bare facts as much as it was possible; he left out the small details of how utterly hopeless Edonomee was, how Setheris Nelar grabbed the letter first, and how he attached himself to their company after all. Chavar, however, kept asking about the _Archduke_ , as he called Maia – _but how did he react to the news? to our letter? did he ask anything? did he tell thee anything?_ and Csevet had no other way to save both himself and the emperor but to play the unobservant, unconcerned simpleton to an extent he almost felt ashamed by it. But Chavar didn’t pay attention to him becoming suddenly so stupid at all; his thoughts found another trail already.

“And where is Osmer Nelar now?” he asked with suspicion, and Csevet was compelled to admit that Setheris was probably in the Tortoise Room with the emperor. Chavar’s eyes sharpened dangerously.

“He is, isn’t he? Ten years were not enough to stifle his ambitions, then. Very well. This shall be an… interesting reunion. We were friends once, a very long time ago,” he finished, but his threatening smile told a totally different story, and Csevet had the unnerving feeling that Chavar is preparing for a war already – a bloodless war to be waged in the Alcethmeret, with words instead of swords, and neither he nor Nelar thinks Maia to be more than a strange-looking puppet whose possessor also holds the imperial power.

He had to fight the urge to bite his lip. The new emperor has asked him for guidance, but as a courier in the service of the Lord Chancellor he could do hardly more than show him around and summon the people he needed to meet. He might even try to influence the servants’ attitude towards him – though probably never Esaran’s – but that was about everything in his power. And Maia needed more than that if he wanted to steer clear from both Chavar and Nelar, and then all the others. Guidance, and not only around the Alcethmeret. More than that: an advisor, someone clever and informed, someone without prejudices and partiality. Someone Maia could trust and someone who would trust _him_ in exchange to say the truth without fear. Possibly his very life depended on it. 

He looked up; Chavar’s eyes were on him, but he was looking somewhere far away already.

“Can we go now, please?” It was a risky question; if Chavar said no he was as good as dead. Still, it would have been riskier to wait until the Lord Chancellor remembers to give him a task, like delivering those letters to the end of the world.

“Go?” Chavar repeated the word as if he didn’t know its meaning. “Where dost thou want to go before we said so? Art not under our command to come and go as we please?”

“We are, Lord Chavar,” Csevet swallowed hard. “Nevertheless, we… have other tasks to attend. In the Alcethmeret.” Not a full lie, still a false implication, and Csevet was saved from blushing only by the pallor of his fear. _Salezheio, please, do not let him realize._

Chavar’s sharp glance turned to him, pierced him. “Other tasks? Has the Archduke ordered thee? A courier?” He shook his head with a faint grimace, and then, because Csevet did not answer, he waved dismissingly. “So be it. Let him suffer no delay in getting what he wants on this very important day. Go and do thy tasks, then, but we will see thee back in the fleet as soon as thou hast finished them.”

“Yes, Lord Chavar. Thank you.” With that, Csevet all but ran out of the apartment, before the Lord Chancellor could pull him back. He knew what tasks Maia would have ordered – _asked_ – him to do, had he but one chance to get his new home known. He went straight back to Esaran.

“You look like as if you had been chewed on, then spat out again,” Echelo greeted him. She changed to deep, formal mourning in the meantime: the lines at her mouth were even more deep and grim than usual. “Were you with Lord Chavar?” She shook her head. “Anyway, we already ordered the staff to clean or change everything, and talked to Dachensol Ebremis, too. Luncheon will be ready at the usual time.”

“That is good,” nodded Csevet. “We shall go and see if there are any messages already. “ He suspected there will be a lot of them; every single noble household at the court will feel themselves obliged to express their sympathies to the new emperor – and establish their standing thereby.”

“Yes, go and make yourself informed,” Esaran actually smiled at him. “There is one thing, however, that had us arrested.” Her smile vanished. “His edocharei.”

This was one thing Csevet has not yet considered; he has not known the personal servants of Varenechibel well, because in time they have grown just as cold and distant as their lord. Esaran was right, though: Maia would need his own set, and very soon at that. And as he looked at her an idea started to form in his mind. A potentially catastrophic idea, but it just might work…

“How about the triplets?”

“What?” Esaran’s head snapped up, and a shocked expression sat on her face. “They are not… they are…”

“They are _what,_ exactly?” Csevet asked slowly. Esaran shot him an angry glance.

“They are cleaners! Besides, we have a fairly good idea where they come from… as do you, we suppose.”

“This is true,” Csevet nodded, for indeed he had one. The triplets, Nemer, Avris and Esha were not actual siblings, or at least most probably not. Nemer, who was something like a leader to them, had stocky build and goblin-dark skin; Esha was dark, too, but tall and lean, while Avris was pure-blooded elvish. They arrived to the Untheileneise Court together a couple of years ago, seeking employment, and their only wish was not to be separated. They were accepted into the cleaning staff; they proved themselves worth their salaries, and shortly thereafter they were already scrubbing the Alcethmeret’s lavatories; a step forward, though not a real improvement. Improvement came when, in Dach’osmerrem Aravaran’s case, it became clear that they have other talents, too, besides scrubbing chamberpots clean. Though never officially tasked, thereafter they often helped the staff, the guests and sometimes even minor nobles with choosing the appropriate clothing and jewelry for any occasion; they even could do anyone’s hair more than properly if trusted with it. There were some signs that made Csevet suspect they had fled some kind of a southern whorehouse in hopes of a better life, finding support in each other’s company – and truly, even cleaning the Alcethmeret’s toilets was better than _that,_ \-- but he never asked. There are doors which, once closed, are not to be pried open again.

“And they are only three,” continued Esaran, although with somewhat less enthusiasm. “We would need another one so they can do shifts.”

“Now, _that_ would never work. They will have to suffice. And they will.

Echelo regarded Csevet thoughtfully, and then she slowly shook her head.

“Be it so, then. We shall fetch them."

That solved, Csevet went back to the couriers’ quarters to tell them to deliver any incoming letters to the Alcethmeret’s pneumatic station; the other couriers all but pounced on him demanding news and rumors, and Csevet could not give them the same act that saved him at Chavar’s. It took almost half an hour until he could extricate himself; then he hurried back to the Alcethmeret -- just in time to see Lord Chavar marching towards the stairs.

 _Only now?_ he thought, astonished.  _An hour must have passed since he was summoned. This is open disrespect, if not more._

He managed to intercept the Lord Chancellor's route without quite running, and announced him; he hoped he could witness the first clash between Maia and Chavar somehow, because this was, very probably, already the beginning of that bloodless war for the power, but then Nelar stepped up to him, requesting that Csevet find him his wife. At least he now used the formal, and gave him directions to their apartments, nevertheless, Csevet wished he could simply refuse -- only to understand a minute later, already on the stairs, that Nelar did him a favor. Remaining under the eye of Chavar could have easily turned things worse for him. This realization, though, did not make him any happier.

Hesero Nelaran, for a change, was kind to him, kind enough that Csevet, while waiting for her to get ready and then leading the way back, could not help thinking about what kind of person Nelar could have been before his relegation to have and keep Hesero for a wife. They met Nelar on the stairs of the Alcethmeret; he extended his arm to Hesero and as they turned their backs to Csevet they both seemed to forget about his existence at all. Since they clearly did not want to be announced, Csevet slowed his steps and resolved himself to waiting again, but not a minute passed before he saw Esaran descending the stairs, her face in a frown even deeper than usual. 

"What's toward?" asked Csevet with fresh worry, but Echelo waved her hand dismissively. 

“Nothing that would be unexpected in such a situation, and definitely nothing that could not be handled. But we must tell you, this new emperor of yours is quite strange in the head,” she said in a low voice that nevertheless conveyed her disapproval. “He wants to go to the funeral this afternoon, can you imagine that?”

“The funeral…. of those who served on the Wisdom of Choharo?” Csevet first thought he misunderstood, but then as Echelo did not deny it, he felt a warm bubble forming in his chest. It was deep thankfulness for the emperor acknowledging their deaths, and, strangely, pride. _Of course Maia would do that._

“Yes,” answered Echelo. “Quite foolish, in our opinion. Varenechibel would never…” She trailed off and shook her head. "Oh, well, this doesn't matter anymore. One thing, though. As much as it is not my place to judge, thou still art playing a dangerous game here, Csevet Aisava. I do hope thou knowest that. And I also do hope thou knowest what thou art doing. I would be truly sorry to see thee lose.

“So would I,” Csevet smiled at her sincerely. “Believe me, so would I.”

Esaran gave no answer to that, only a silent and grim nod, and left to look after her numerous tasks. Some time later Setheris and Hesero exited the Tortoise Room, neither of them sparing even a look for the courier standing on the stairs; then, almost immediately thereafter, a tall, muscular and quite surly-looking soldier turned up and entered instead – probably the first soldier-nohecharis. He closed the door behind him firmly before the frustrated Csevet could even have peeked into the room. Finally, a tall, thin, bespectacled man arrived in worn blue robes – he had to be the other nohecharis, though Csevet would not have guessed this if he saw him a day before. He did not look like a dachenmaza… but then again, Maia did not look like an emperor yet, either.

The maza smiled and nodded at him before entering the room, and left the door ajar; he knelt down almost immediately in the doorway.

“Oh, damn. We did so hope we would get here first. Serenity. We are Cala Athmaza. The Adremaza sent us.”

This introduction was definitely not what Csevet expected; he could not resist smiling, too. He had a feeling that Cala Athmaza was exactly whom Maia himself would choose. He was not so sure about the soldier, though; however impressive was the lieutenant’s uniform and bearing, he did not even spare a glance at Csevet when he entered, and now, as he stood there, visible through the gap in the doorway, an almost palpable disapproval radiated from him towards the emperor and the maza equally.

“We are pleased,” Maia said, his voice definitely higher than before, but not breaking. “We are Edrehasivar, to be crowned the seventh of that name at midnight of the twenty-fourth.”

Csevet’s head snapped up. _Edrehasivar?_ He has not given any thought to the imperial name of the new emperor – he simply assumed Maia will title himself Varenechibel the Fifth. The name Edrehasivar was something fully different: it promised a clean break, an end of the Varedeise emperors’ reign.  

 _Art surprised again?_ he asked himself somewhat amused. The imperial name _Edrehasivar VII. Drazhar_ was so fitting that he suddenly could not understand how he could have fancied Maia as Varenechibel before.

“Serenity,” the new nohecharei replied, then Csevet heard Cala’s voice again. “Serenity, there is a young man on the landing who looks as if he does not know whether he ought to stay or leave.”

“Show him in,” Maia said; Csevet almost started. The maza and the soldier stood aside, and he stepped in between them. He felt his face reddening, as if he had been caught eavesdropping.

“We beg your pardon, Serenity,” he said trying to keep his ears and voice neutral, even though he knew that this would be the moment of truth. Though he managed to escape from between Chavar’s teeth, he knew he might fall back there just as soon, because he cannot simply say _Here I am; came back to guide thee as thou asked’st of me. Dost still want me?_

He swallowed nervously. “We did not know if you required our services for anything else.”

“Have you other duties?”

“Serenity,” Csevet said, and felt the tentative hope rising. “The Lord Chancellor has been so good as to intimate that he will second us to your service, if it would be pleasing to you.”

“That is very kind of the Lord Chancellor,” the emperor replied, and their eyes met for a moment. Csevet saw something flash through Maia’s face, a painful, yet amused expression – it was nothing more than a fleeting shadow, but Csevet realized Maia had a very good idea of Chavar’s _kindness_ already. “Then we would be very grateful if you...” He gestured. “If you could organize our household?”

Csevet bowed deeply – mostly to conceal the fresh flush on his face. _Thou needst not concern thyself about that Serenity – it is already well on its way._

“It shall be as Your Serenity wishes,” he said instead, straightening. His heart sang, as he pulled out his pocket watch. “We will begin with… luncheon.”

 


End file.
